


Even as it throws you to the fire

by helpiamabug



Category: Borderlands
Genre: AU, Character Study, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helpiamabug/pseuds/helpiamabug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mordecai looks back at where he is and how he got there. A little fun, a little sexy, a little serious. Mostly just a look at what would happen if the Borderlands crew all just started making out all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even as it throws you to the fire

**Author's Note:**

> Whee! First story evar! Please to enjoy, leave constructive criticism, etc.
> 
> A/N: Completely from the strange, strange depths of my imagination, AKA not mine, no profit made, please don't sue.

Sometimes, Mordecai thinks he's the craziest bastard in the 'verse. Scratch that -- he IS the craziest bastard in the 'verse.

Start over: he's seriously lucked out this time. He's been lookin' for his for years now, years on every backwater shithole he thought might have something worth stealin' or shootin', and he was all alone out there. On Pandora, he's found three other fuckers just as crazy as he is. Yeah, they're jerkoff assholes with no regard for anyone but themselves, but at least they're all on the same page there.

He found Brick first - actually, Brick found him, totally fucked, pinned down behind cover trying to knock out Nine Toes, Bloodwing's beak covered in gore and running low on ammo. Bit embarrassin', really, rolling in on the transport with a bunch of Crimson Lance dickbags and banging on about how he'd take 'em on in a shooting contest any day, and first job he takes planetside has him fucked six ways to Sunday. He's thinkin' about walkin out from behind cover hands up and beggin' that bastard for mercy when all of a sudden, some jacked bastard in a wifebeater with the 'verse's most ridiculous haircut kicks down the fuckin' door and punches Nine Toes in the back of the head. Brick didn't even say anything -- just waded in fists first and beat that fucker to a pulp. Not like he'd say anything when he'd just witnessed Brick in action first hand, but it was hot as all hell to see that bastard standing over him when he was down, fists covered in gore like some crazy avenging angel. Mordecai'd been told he was a little bit scary, what with being skinny as a post and that whole being able to shoot the eyes right outta your head from 500 yards thing, but frankly Brick and the flat look in his eyes after he'd beaten some bandit to death led him closer to pissin' his fatigues than anything since he'd been 2 and done that on a regular basis. They never said anything official or anything like that, but they started going out on missions together, splitting it 50/50. And if maybe some nights out in the wastelands Mordecai rubbed himself off fast and hard thinking about Brick's hands and the cut of his jaw, well, no one but him knew about that now, did they.

Roland was the next misfit to join the crew - only that was a little bit of an accident, seein' as Mordecai started out fixin' to fight him, not recruit him. Scene was the usual hole in the wall bar in New Haven, and both of 'em had their eyes on the same pretty little alley cat of a bartender, long eyelashes and a high, tight ass. He'd had next to enough of washing skag vomit out of his hair at the end of the day and definitely enough of spending every day ogling Brick without anything coming of it, and he'd certainly had enough cheap bathtub gin to make sure he'd do something stupid. He was fixing for that something stupid to be sucking that bartender off in the back seat of his car only every time he tried to make his move, this built rangy bastard would slide down further in his chair and snark something else about how skinny he was. Last call, and Mordecai tried to fist his hand in the soldier's shirt and drag him outside to the alley to beat the shit out of him. Tried was the operative word, because the second Mordecai got close, that bastard cracked his neck, slithered out of his chair, and went straight for Mordecai's jugular. Literally. With his lips. When he tried to whimper something about Crimson Lance not liking the direction this was going, Roland just wrapped his arms around him and reeled him in, pressing a kiss to his temple and rubbing against the front of his jeans. His momma used to say that lovin' and fightin' were close as two sides of a coin, and after he'd been thrown over Roland's shoulder and carried off to his room, Mordecai figured she must've been on the right track.

Lilith now, she snuck up on everyone. On a quiet night out on the range he'd hear about these Sirens from the grifters an' cowboys his dad would hire every summer to take care of the ranch while he was too damned busy bein' important in the city to pay attention to his family - how those witches'd take your mind and then your purse, and leave you with their crazy laughter ringing in your ears and not even your dignity to cover yerself with - but Lilith, she beats the stories he heard and then some. After a piece of fighting sometimes he and Roland would make their way into the nearest canyon, still covered with blood and stinking of gunpowder and rut against each other like teenagers. He'd tipped Roland into the crick and jumped in after him, caked-on blood itchin' and pullin' on his skin as he mouthed his way down the Soldier's stomach and the next thing he knew was a blast of air and then this gods-forsaken skinny girl is tuggin' one of his dreads with this evil smirk on her face and askin' where a girl can find a good time. In retrospect it should have been absolutely no surprise that gore got this crazy bitch hot, which is probably why she stuck around. The four of them sure came home covered in blood enough to justify her joinin' up with them. Then again, it's not like he's complaining, 'cause it's pretty goddamn hot to watch Lilith drag a knife over Roland's arm when they're all buck naked. Sometimes when the four of them are out on a job, he'll be up on a bluff watching them with his scope and see the Soldier reach back to itch at one of the fresh scars snaking down his back or up his thigh and he'll have to take a few deep breaths to make sure he doesn't pass out from pure want then and there. If Lilith smirks at him afterwards and makes some bitchy comment about how his aim was a little off, it's ok. He'll get even, eventually. Hopefully he'll leave a mark or two.

Brick doesn't ever really join in their games, but Mordecai thinks that's pretty OK. He's got enough crazy to deal with when it comes to the other two, and sometimes it's nice just to curl up next to the fire and lean against Brick's shoulder and listen to his stories.

Nights are cold as hell on Pandora, especially out in the backwoods wastelands their ragtag crew patrols these days, so most nights they sleep together like a litter of puppies, one piled on t'other, curled round legs and arms and wriggling towards the center of the pile. When it's clear out, sometimes Mordecai will stare up at the stars and wonder which one of them brought him here, to this place and these people. Yeah, they ain't much, but the four of them go together just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. I hate coming up with fic titles, and I'm terrible at it. Please to excuse.


End file.
